


A Fork, a Steak, a Myth

by Callisto



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Post-Series, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Hey, I don’t hold it against you. You’re a product of your environment, Jim.” Blair was waving a fork around earnestly, hitching himself a little higher in the chair at the kitchen table. What with that and Blair nudging his glasses a notch higher, Jim knew there was no way he was going to get left to eat his meal in peace.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fork, a Steak, a Myth

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompts: product - different - funny - hungry

“Hey, I don’t hold it against you. You’re a product of your environment, Jim.” Blair was waving a fork around earnestly, hitching himself a little higher in the chair at the kitchen table. What with that and Blair nudging his glasses a notch higher, Jim knew there was no way he was going to get left to eat his meal in peace.

“But, my friend, what you may not know, is that the patriarchal hierarchy is as much as myth as the matriarchal one. Though to see some classic male domination roles and reactions, we really need look no further than the Ellison household, right Jim?”

Not too sure he hadn’t just been called a redneck, Jim’s mouth was too full of a hastily shoveled in piece of steak to call Blair on it.

It didn’t matter.

“But you know what else is interesting, Jim? What’s interesting, is why things like this only seem to happen in _westernized_ male-oriented societies. Oh, and in twentieth century westernized male-oriented societies...”

And it was such a good steak too – marinated in a dozen different spices, the way Blair knew Jim liked them.

“It’s like some weird, unwritten genetic code, which men with your military and law enforcement background all share. Hey, I bet if I studied photos dating back to the early...”

And when he cut into the steak, the pink was juicy and seared just so.

“...because, man, if you look at pre-twentieth century male groups, and non-westernized ones, the funny thing is me, Jim. I am not the one who’s different, I’m the norm! Not you and Joel and Simon. Me, Ellison. So you can see, right? How I’d be reluctant to conform—”

Enough. The power of steak over navel-gazing was failing fast. Jim grabbed Blair’s wrist and halted the empty fork mid-wave.

Blair blinked.

“Just to be clear, Chief? No amount of—” he swallowed down the bite he had in his mouth and gestured between them with his other hand, “— _this_ , is going to get you out of it.” He grinned. “You’re in my environment now, right down to your shiny new badge and your too-tight police academy shoes. So I suggest you suck it up, adapt, and get the damn haircut already.” He reached for the tabasco sauce. “Because you keep a hungry man parted from a steak like this much longer, and I’ll show you no end of male domination.”

“Promises, promises.”

“What?”

“I said, can’t a guy have a little fun analyzing in his own kitchen anymore?”

Jim narrowed his eyes. Blair was all wide-eyed innocence and indignation although Jim was pretty sure, as always, that his ears hadn’t deceived him. He decided to let go of Blair’s wrist anyway.

“Knock yourself out, Chief. By all means. But me with short hair and you with long hair? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got as a topic?”

“Hey, what can I say, slim pickings today. I’ll do better tomorrow.” Blair smiled finally, a soft, good-humored smile. The kind which Jim had no choice but to return.

“You can try. After the haircut I have a feeling I’ll be the one having fun with it. You’ll be the one crying in the corner like Gretel.”

A mouthful of salad almost hit the table, as Blair snort-laughed, semi-choked, and then rolled watery eyes at him. Jim was just grateful he’d finished eating.

“Jesus, Jim. Could you get like, oh I don’t know, a single myth right?”

“How about the hair-boy myth? Or Samson? Or maybe Delilah?”

The piece of lettuce hit him smack between the eyes.

******


End file.
